Deep Red Sea
by TheNewBrawler
Summary: Desert, blood and sea. A cruel destiny interferes with times long past, and the wind growls with a memory that refuses to be forgotten. Short MultiChap. Wind Waker universe.


_I started this early in 2012, and had a lot of plans for it. I've finally decided to skip my nerves about this fic and submit it and see how it goes. It's a short multichap. _

_Note – This is set in Wind Waker!verse, with some crossover and AU elements. I'm undecided on whether or not there will be slash in this. _

_Disclaimer – I own nothing. _

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Deep Red Sea

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That day, he'd felt sick.

The pierce of the sun's glare had shot through his skull, allowing moisture to gather on his temple and his skin to become flushed, itchy with heat. The sands crushed themselves beneath his feet and stuck to his toes. He tried to bathe them in the waves, but the blissful blue had evaporated into a queasy green overnight and the shifting rhythm of the water seemed to churn inside him.

Aryll's relentless cheer chided as opposed to charmed, and it took physical strength to smile at the dents in his grandmother's frown. The sun blazed on his back, breaking forth budding sunburn and he vomited behind the house.

Finally, his grandmother relented and put him to bed.

Now he struggles within the thin sheets, allowing his soup to grow cold. Outside, the day rages on in its sun soaked crusade. He can spot Aryll on her watchtower, a blue and white dot basking against the fiery grip of the horizon. She balances between the sinking tides and the crisp indigo sky with the waver of a butterfly.

The sun swells through his closed eyes, a dusky orange blur looming through the black. It slides into his consciousness, rocking on the uneven ripples of his dreams, before it latches itself onto a brightening sky that enweaves on a barren landscape like unravelling string.

The land is dry, full of dust, a voluptuous desert stretching as far as the eye can see. Stuck in gatered mounds are fluttering red flags, licks of blood amongst the sand speckled winds. They flap and stutter in the hot breeze. Above Link, the sky is devastatingly empty, a blue dome that falls onto the horizon and yet reveals nothing.

_This is a dream._

Link bites his lower lip. A childish panic clenches his chest. Stumbling to his feet, he scans his surroundings. Behind him, there is a large stone structure, resembling one of the crumbling temples in Sturgeon's old books.

Nearby the sun bleached building, is a boy.

He's about his age, maybe a little older. He strikes a stuffed dummy with frightening skill, drawing forth a hooked blade from its straw chest. His skin is dark, tan, his arms lithe and his form wiry from training. His eyes are a smoky maroon, his hair flame red and cropped close to his head. He is clothed in tribal garb, all coloured linens and odd symbols Link has no reference for.

The boy's lip curls. Huffing in what Link can only guess is discontent; he sheathes his sword and kicks the torn dummy out of the line.

Link draws closer, ignoring the sands blistering his toes. The boy's nose is long, slightly hooked at the end, and his mouth seems to forever threaten an invisible sneer. On the centre of his forehead is a crimson stone, held in place by a gilded headdress that looks like it digs in behind his ears.

Link ducks behind a broken piece of rock, and silently observes the boy. He hasn't seen him yet. The strange child circles the remaining figures with all the grace of an anguished vulture, and gritting his teeth, he aims another attack into the back of a dummy's head.

Crouched in his hiding place, Link squeezes his eyes tight and shifts his fingers onto the soft skin of his arm. Holding his breath, he grasps flesh between his fingertips and twists hard.

Nothing.

He keeps his eyes shut, but he can feel the sticky clasp of his shirt to his back and the sun, always the damn sun, flaring his flesh with its intolerable heat.

Nausea pools in his stomach.

Shivering, he twists even harder.

A small, breathy cry drops from his lips.

The dull clang of a sword halts.

Silence.

Link blinks, battering away the first beginnings of tears, and looks up.

The older boy is leaning over the rock, his face tense, alert, glaring down at the newcomer. His gangly wrists hang over the side of the stone like guttered bellflowers.

A sudden weight hurtles into Link's gut, and the world overturns.

_His _stomach turns, and he is violently sick over the bed covers. Grandma totters in; exclaims wildly, and hurries to him with a bowl of boiled water in her hands.


End file.
